


Kotyonok

by Bricker



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, M/M, accidental first dates, older!Otayuri, otabek isn't an ice skater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bricker/pseuds/Bricker
Summary: Yuri's had quite enough of Mila's pestering about his dating life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a short otayuri, because i love them and i needed a break :')

“Kotyonok,” a familiar voice coos from the other side of the cafe, and Yuri rolls his jaw in frustration before glancing up from his book. He is not the least bit surprised to find Mila beaming at him over the heads of other customers. 

“Can you not,” he grumbles as she strolls over to his table, silver hoop earrings swinging with her hips. The mess of red hair that spills over the unshaved half of her head is startling, slicing through the dull, comfortable tones of cherrywood and steam that occupy the little cafe they’ve chosen to meet at. She plops down in the seat opposite him with an unfazed grin. “You’re such an embarrassment.” 

“You’re such a downer,” she counters sweetly, locking her gloved fingers together and resting her chin on them. Yuri grudgingly nudges the drink he ordered for her over. “I can’t help myself, you look absolutely adorable in that sweater. I can practically see the fluffy ears as we speak. Itty bitty kitty boy.” 

“Yeah, well. I get that enough from my fans, I don’t need it from you, too,” Yuri says. He catches a stray onlooker’s gaze and glares until they duck their head away. “Especially out in public.” 

She smiles wider, as if that’s the best news she’s heard all week. “Your fans are still calling you ‘kitten,’ after all these years? That’s so cute.” 

“It’s a fuckin’ nuisance, is what it is. I’m a skating legend, you’d think they would’ve moved on to a more accurate term. What happened to ‘the ice tiger of Russia?’ I liked that one, why didn’t that one stick.” 

“I think kitten is plenty accurate.” 

“It is not. I’m twenty years old, five foot eleven, and a figure skating beast. It might’ve been accurate when I was, what, sixteen? Now it’s just idiotic.” 

“It’s your own fault, for performing a routine based off innocent love for your senior debut,” Mila says, taking a sip of her drink. “Fans are like elephants, you know.” 

Yuri scoffs. “Elephants.” 

“Mm-hm. They may forgive, but they never forget. That’s why you’re stuck with being called kitten now, and why you’ll be stuck with it for the rest of your career. Longer, if you leave a truly lasting impression.” She hums contently and tilts her head. “You’ll always be a shimmering little kitten in their eyes. No matter how tall and how scary you get.”

Yuri scowls. She’s right, unfortunately enough. He’s glad she’s admitted he’s tall and scary, though. It feels like praise to hear it from her, the young woman who’s done nothing but gush about how little and adorable he is for the entirety of the time they’ve known each other. If even Mila agrees that he’s tall and intimidating, it must be true. Not that he doubted, or anything. 

“So, endearing nicknames aside,” she says, setting her drink down. “How are you? I feel like we haven’t talked in weeks.” 

“We haven’t, thank God.” 

“Stop trying to insult me and tell me how you’re doing, pest.” 

Yuri can’t help but smirk at the familiar exchange. He has missed her, if only a little. “I’m fine. Tired.” He pauses. “Yakov officially retired last Monday.” 

“Did he?” Mila asks, the last syllable quirking up in surprise. “I thought he was holding off until next spring.” 

“I must’ve pushed him to the limit early,” Yuri jokes, but the words leave a sting in his throat. 

Mila softens. “I’m sure that’s not true. He probably just got tired, what with all the new youngsters that have been pushing him nonstop this season. You’re hardly his problem child anymore.” 

Yuri looks away and drinks. “Whatever.” 

“Is he still in Saint Petersburg?” 

“Not right now. Visiting his sister out in the countryside, I think. But he’ll come back.”

“Mm, I’ll have to visit him once he’s back,” Mila says wistfully. “He’s done so much for you and I.” 

“...Yeah.”

“Any idea who’s gonna coach you now?” 

“No clue. Viktor and PCB offered, of course, but I’m not sure if I can handle the two of them as coaches. I can barely handle them as they are.” 

“PCB?” Mila echoes, lifting a questioning brow. 

“Pork cutlet bowl,” Yuri clarifies. She still looks confused, which makes him give an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Yuri Katsuki. The Other Yuri, you call him.” 

“Ohhhhh.” She laughs. “That’s what your nickname for him has evolved into, then? Doesn’t seem very practical. You must have to explain it a lot. But hey, training under Viktor and Other Yuri sounds fun. I bet they’re nicer than Yakov.” 

“Mm.” Yuri actually doubts it. Yakov is short-tempered and brisk, simple to understand. Viktor and PCB, though… the pair of them have layers. They aren’t as up front about their motives, more into the whole ‘learning for yourself’ thing and pulling the rug out from under people, Yuri included. Heaven and hell alike know that there’s more to PCB than an anxious innocent-type, and the older Viktor gets, the more enigmatic he becomes. Training under them sounds exhausting. It could be incredibly helpful, considering their respective successes, but Yuri’s not sure if he’s willing to see them as anything more than a couple of good friends. 

“Enough about work,” Mila says with a dismissive wave of her hand, snapping him out of his thoughts. She leans forward with a mischievous grin. “Let’s talk romance.” 

“No,” Yuri replies before she can even finish the word. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mila, I swear to god-” 

“You need love in your life, Yuri!”

“What the fuck are you talking about. I’m twenty years old and training for another Grand Prix, love is the last thing I need in my life.” 

“Fine, maybe not love. But at least a date. When was the last time you went out, huh? When you were seventeen? Yuri, that is so, so sad.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he snaps. “I’m fine on my own, and I have no interest in wasting my time on an awkward outing with some stranger, that’s ultimately going to go nowhere because I’m too busy to devote any time to myself, much less another person.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a stranger,” Mila insists. “I’ll set someone up for you. I know a bunch of guys that would trip over themselves to take you out.” 

“Right,” he drawls. “Because another fan throwing themselves at me is exactly what I need right now.” 

“It wouldn’t be like that, Yuri. Just let me help.”

“I don’t need your help. I’m fine by myself, and I always will be.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glowers. “Drop it.” 

She pouts at him, her nose wrinkling with frustration. “Insufferable pest.” 

“Wrinkly old hag.” 

“You’re not even going to let me try to set you up?” 

“Nope.” 

“Not even one time?” 

“No, Mila.” 

“How ‘bout this, how ‘bout this,” she says, leaning forward with her hands held out in a ‘shut up and listen’ motion. “You let me set you up with somebody, just once. If it doesn’t go well, then I won’t say anything else about it. Ever.” 

That….actually causes Yuri pause. He sits back, narrowing his eyes at her. “Ever?” 

“Ever,” she confirms grimly. 

“Hm.” Not the worst idea Yuri’s ever heard. He’s all about getting Mila to shut up about how he needs to date. Doesn’t love the thought of actually going out with a guy of her choice, though. But, in the grand scheme of things, one possibly terrible night isn’t all that bad, compared to her constant pestering. He doubts she’s going to pick somebody he’s actually going to like, (one conversation with her bubbly girlfriend is all anybody needs to know that they have very different types,) but it very well could be worth it, if she stays true to her word. Not a bad idea at all. 

“Fine,” he concedes, and Mila immediately brightens. “One date, in exchange for your silence. If there’s no second date, then not another peep from you.” 

“Deal,” she says, grinning. She holds her hand out. They shake. “You have to promise that you’re not going to turn down a second date solely for the sake of your pride, though.” 

“I make no such promises. But I’ll try.” 

She gives a resolute nod. “Good enough, you stubborn mule.” 

“Ugly old witch.” 

“Big-headed man child.” 

“Disease-ridden cow.” 

“Ha!” She claps her hands together, leaning back. “That’s a new one. You’re getting creative, kitten.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles into his drink, which just makes her grin more. “So, who are you gonna set me up with? Some crusty old man who’s going to buy me nice things, right? Given your history.” 

“Sara is not crusty,” Mila huffs, looking positively disgusted with the idea. “She is a beautiful Italian princess, who just so happens to be a couple years older than me. And no, I already know who I’m setting you up with, and he’s neither crusty nor old.” 

“Yeah? I take it he’s good-looking, then.” 

“Very attractive, yes.” 

“How attractive?” 

She gains a shit-eating grin. “Attractive enough to tempt your sorry virgin ass, I assure you.” 

Yuri admits, he set himself up for that one. “Again: shut the fuck up.” 

\---o0o---

Well, then. Yuri’s not too sure if he should kick Mila’s ass to Timbuktu, or follow her around for the rest of her life, holding a giant sign that reads: ‘HOPE YOU’RE REAL FUCKIN PROUD.’ 

The ‘perfect guy’ Mila went on and on about after they made their agreement is currently in the process of standing Yuri up, leaving him to waste away in a restaurant's outdoor seating area, where they explicitly agreed to meet. It’s been thirty minutes, and Yuri is still alone, looking like a complete idiot by himself. He’s downed two glasses of water and now really has to pee, but he can’t get up because what if this fucker finally decides to show his face while he’s in the bathroom? That makes Yuri the asshole in this situation, which he cannot and will not stand for, dammit. 

This guy knows who Yuri is, right? Not to toot his own horn, but Yuri’s pretty sure there’s a decent amount of people out there who’d love to have dinner with the ice skating legend Yuri Plisetsky. Who wastes an opportunity to go out with someone like him? Even if the date did go terribly, Mr. Perfect still would’ve been able to boast to all his friends about that one famous guy he went out with. There is not one good reason why his ass shouldn’t be in the chair opposite Yuri’s. 

At least it’s nice out tonight. Hot, but the cool wind feels good. It’s kinda gusty, which had worried Yuri a little before, (this gorgeous mane of blonde hair is hard to maintain, okay,) but it doesn’t fucking matter much now, does it. 

“Sir, would you like to order, now?” the waitress asks, for what’s probably the fifth time. 

“Yeah, I guess I better,” he growls dejectedly. He rubs his temple as he does another quick scan of the menu, the menu he’s been staring at for thirty damn minutes now. “I’ll have the beef stroganoff, thanks.” 

She hurries away with the menu under her arm, and Yuri slumps against the back of his chair, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Better text Mila and tell her about this fantastic experience… and then text Sara to inform her that her girlfriend has terrible taste in friends. 

Whatever. Yuri’s eaten by himself in public before, he’ll do it again. Proudly. He sat down tonight to have dinner, and dammit, he’s not going to leave until he does. He’s not afraid of what the other people who are clearly stealing glances at him think. This is no skin off his back. 

Still though… 

“What a dick.” 

“Excuse me?” a deep voice says in alarmed response. Yuri’s head snaps up. Fuck, he must’ve said that louder than he thought, because a guy who was walking past the restaurant's outdoor seating area has stopped, and is now staring at him with a vaguely affronted look on his face. 

“Not you,” Yuri blurts. “I didn’t- I was just, uh. Talking to myself.” 

“Oh,” the guy says, his expression smoothing instead into one of mild concern. Which isn’t something Yuri can really blame him for. It’s natural to be a little concerned when someone openly admits to talking to himself in public. 

Oh no, this guy is kinda hot. Shorter than Yuri, with wind-blown dark hair and an undercut. He’s broad, muscular under a long-sleeved dark shirt, with a couple of piercings in his ears and a tribal bear tattoo peeking out from under his collar. Yuri swallows thickly. 

“Yeah, cause like. I was stood up for a date. Some asshole decided he couldn’t be bothered, right? No, not an asshole, a dick. That’s why I said dick, which is what you just heard…” 

Good heavens, Yuri stop talking. 

The guy glances around at the other customers, looking uncomfortable. He takes a step closer to speak in a lower voice. “Please stop saying dick, there’s a family right behind you.” 

Yuri looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, a family of four is seated at the table that sits against the restaurant's back wall, including two disgusted-looking parents, a baby, and a little girl who’s watching him with round eyes. “Oh, Shi-oot. Shoot. I said shoot.” 

There’s a beat of awkward silence, before the family grudgingly looks away. The guy at Yuri’s side lets out the softest puff of amusement. “Good save.” 

“Hardly, after that humiliatingly explicit outburst,” Yuri grumbles back. He meets the guy’s dark eyes again, and the guy takes a little step back to put some distance between them. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“...Sure,” he says, in that quiet, gruff voice of his. His gaze flickers to the empty seat across from Yuri. “You got stood up?” 

“Yeah.” Yuri feels his expression harden. “What’s it to you.” 

“Nothing. In my defense, you did just tell me pretty plainly.”

“A-ah.”

The guy studies him for a moment, and Yuri meets his gaze to the best of his ability. It’s kinda hard, though. Whoever this stranger is, he’s terribly attractive, and his eyes are startling. The color of the black, jagged rocks that sit off on grey waters before a storm. Yuri admits to himself that he rather likes looking at him, but is also starting to wonder why a perfect stranger who incidentally stopped by his table is still here.

“I’m surprised,” the guy confesses.

“Surprised…?” 

He blinks down at him, as if it’s obvious. “You don’t look like somebody who should be stood up.” 

Yuri feels himself flush. He prays it’s too dark to see. “Oh.” 

Damn, if Yuri didn’t know any better, he’d think that he was just made the target of the stoniest, most bluntly delivered pick-up line ever… By the guy that he just accidentally called a dick. 

Huh. 

Any possible response is cut off by Yuri’s waitress, who’s slipped back outside to serve the family their drinks. She catches sight of the guy standing at Yuri’s side and chirps nervously, “Oh, I see your company has arrived, sir!” 

Yuri starts. “Ah, well-” 

“Would you like me to take your order?” she asks the guy, who’s gone stiff under her gaze. There’s a beat of silence, where he doesn’t seem too sure what to do. He glances down at Yuri for some sort of assistance. Yuri just blinks up at him, still trying to wrap his head around whatever the hell he’d just said about him not looking like somebody who should be stood up. 

After another stretch of helplessly awkward silence, the guy pulls the open chair across from Yuri away to sit in. “Sure…?” 

“Great!” the waitress says. “I’ll be right back with your menu.” 

She hurries back inside, and Yuri is left with a person he doesn’t know, who’s now looking a little embarrassed and like he might be regretting walking past this restaurant to begin with. 

“You’re having dinner with me, then?” Yuri asks. 

He squirms. “I suppose I am. Unless you mind.” 

Yuri shrugs, slumping back. “Whatever. As long as you don’t talk too much, I don’t really give a shit. This evening has been crappy enough, I don’t need any extra chit chat from an unexpected guest.” 

“I don’t talk much,” the guy informs him. 

“Then we should get along just fine.” 

Awkward silence falls between them, only interrupted when the waitress comes back with a menu, which is accepted rather stiffly. The guy orders a coke, “in the can, please.” Once she’s safely gone again, he holds his hand out over the table to shake. 

“Otabek Altin,” he says. 

Yuri glances from his hand to his face, before accepting it. “Yuri Plisetsky.” 

They withdraw their hands, and Otabek falls quiet again, turning instead to watch the quiet street and exposing his profile to Yuri’s gaze. Yuri touches a thoughtless finger to his lips. 

“I take it you have nowhere to be, since you’re willing to drop everything to have dinner with a stranger,” he says after a moment. 

“Better than leftovers by myself,” Otabek says to the street. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.” 

“I don’t,” Yuri grumbles. Silence falls again, and the waitress brings Otabek his drink. He pops it open with one finger and sips. Yuri leans forward despite himself. “Your name is odd. Where are you from?” 

Otabek gives him a wary look, but obediently sets his drink down to answer. “Kazakhstan.” 

“Why are you in Saint Petersburg?” 

“My job.” 

“What do you do?” 

“Work in a bakery.” 

“Really,” Yuri muses, looking him up and down. “You?” 

“Yes.” The glance Otabek spares him isn’t reproachful, more mildly curious. “Is that hard to believe?” 

Yuri scoffs. “You’re a guy in your twenties with a tattoo and piercings, telling me you work in a bakery. Sort of, yeah.” 

“Mm,” Otabek hums thoughtfully. “What about you.” 

“What about me?” 

“What do you do, I mean.” 

“Oh.” Yuri straightens himself, a little proudly. “Yeah, well. I’m actually a little surprised you don’t recognize me.” 

Otabek narrows his eyes at him. “Should I?” 

“I’m pretty famous, believe it or not.” 

“Really.” 

“Yes,” Yuri says shortly. He doesn’t like Otabek’s hesitant tone one bit. “Where do you live, under a rock? I’m Yuri Plisetsky.” 

“Never heard of you,” Otabek says, without so much as a flicker of emotion crossing his rugged face. Yuri bristles. “Are you an actor?” 

“No, I’m a world renowned figure skater. Youngest gold medal winner in the senior division, ever? Stood on the podium for the Grand Prix for four consecutive years? Competitor and friend of Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri fuckin’ Katsuki?” 

Otabek shakes his head, leaning back. “Not ringing any bells.” 

“What is wrong with you,” Yuri says in a soft voice. “You know, I have a huge fanbase. Thousands of people would probably kill to be in your spot right now.” 

“Ha.” Otabek cracks a grin. “Modest, huh.”

“Sayin’ it like it is. How have you never heard of me?” 

“I don’t follow ice skating. Did when I was little, but not couldn’t after a while.”

“Why not?” 

Otabek shrugs a shoulder. “Work. School. Lack of a TV.” 

“You didn’t have a TV?” Yuri says, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I’m not from the most lavish of backgrounds. Some things demanded more attention.” 

“Oh.” Yuri’s voice grows small, not entirely sure how to respond to that. At least Otabek doesn’t seem all that concerned with the subject. Granted, he’s not the most expressive guy Yuri’s ever met, but he gives no sign of being anything other than indifferent with the matter, which Yuri is grateful for. He’s not incredibly forgiving towards people who launch into sob stories at the first chance a stranger gives. 

Yuri recovers a little slow, but recovers nonetheless, flicking a strand of hair out of his face. “Well, you should get into ice skating now, if you have the means. It’s the best sport there is.” 

“Oh?” Otabek says, smiles softly. “And you don’t think that statement isn’t a tad biased, Mr. Huge Fanbase?” 

“Nope.”

The bluntness of Yuri’s response actually probes a chuckle out of him. “You are a curiously proud man, Yuri Plisetsky.”

“I don’t see why there’s anything curious about it,” Yuri says, vaguely insulted. His expression just makes Otabek chuckle more, rich and deep. It catches Yuri by surprise, but… not necessarily in a bad way. He decides he very much likes this guy’s voice. He wonders what a full-blown laugh would sound like. “Fine, let’s say I’m a little biased, and ice skating isn’t the best sport in the world. What would be better?” 

“Boxing,” Otabek says, without missing a beat. 

Yuri grins at the sheer irony of it. He couldn’t have picked anything further from ice skating, could he. That’s fine, Yuri can still work it. “Boxing?” 

“It’s engaging and competitive.” 

“So is ice skating.” 

“Boxing keeps you on the edge of your seat.” 

“Please. One skating program is filled with multiple feats of intense flexibility and strength.” 

Otabek smiles at the challenge. “Boxing challenges both brain and brawn in a one-on-one fight.” 

“Ice skating takes relentless, consecutive practice,” Yuri counters, leaning back and folding his arms, “with a beautiful final product.” 

“Boxing appeals to people from all walks of life.” 

“Ha. Ice skating is hardly a sheltered event, either.” 

Otabek falls silent, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, Yuri thinks he’s won, but the feeling of triumph is cut short when Otabek brings his hand down on the table with an air of finality. “Boxing includes a lot less clothing.” 

“Shameless,” Yuri accuses, around a burst of surprised laughter. “Is there any point in trying to sell you on the intricate costumes ice skaters have to wear?” 

Otabek shrugs a shoulder. “You can try. It’ll be a waste of breath, though.” 

“Fine, then,” Yuri concedes. “Maybe boxing isn’t the worst thing ever, I’ll give you that. But ice skating is still superior. Nothing beats the victory of a perfectly executed program, thank you very much. You can take my word for it.” 

“Fair enough.” Otabek says. He tilts his head a fraction to the side in thought. “It might be interesting to revisit ice skating, after all these years. Maybe you should introduce me to it sometime.” 

Something flutters in Yuri’s chest. “I think I better. It’d be unfortunate, for you to have dinner with me and walk away not knowing what I’m capable of.” 

“Oh? And what would that be?” 

“Ridiculous flexibility.” 

Otabek’s eyebrows tilt up with surprise, before he releases a rumble of laughter that has Yuri practically beaming with triumph, because it sounds magnificent. “And I’m the shameless one here.” 

“I couldn’t resist,” Yuri says. “Consider it payback for that one line about how I don’t look the type to be stood up.” 

“Right.” Otabek sits forward, shaking his head in amusement. “So, then. Pickup lines taken into account… is this a date?” 

“I don’t know,” Yuri confesses. He shifts under Otabek’s gaze. “I’d like it to be.” 

“I think I would to.” 

“So it is, then.” 

Otabek nods resolutely, and Yuri can’t help but grin. “So it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> AFTERWARDS:
> 
> mila: how did it go?  
> yuri: it was nice...  
> mila: seriously? that's great! I told you!! :D  
> yuri: you told me nothing but lies, you hag  
> mila: huh? i thought it went well....   
> yuri: im having sara confiscate your favorite earrings for a month as payback  
> mila: yuri wtf


End file.
